


Affinity

by cherrytart



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Ered Luin, F/M, Fem!Ori - Freeform, Fic Spans Years, Frottage, Guilt, Half-Sibling Incest, Mentions of Prostitution, Multi, also featuring courtesan!Dori, ori has a lot of feelings, pre quest, ri family drama, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytart/pseuds/cherrytart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How about a kiss for your jailbird brother?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i am so so sorry.

_It is invariably the same. She wakes up in the dead of night to a weight at her back, callused hands lacing through her cold ones. She presses back against him and his mouth finds the hollow of her throat. A hardness against her rear, pulse ticking between her legs._

_“Hello, moppet.” the whisper is familiar, sly and warm as a hand strokes up the line of her stomach, cups her breast through her chemise. Her nipple peaks, sharp against his palm and he laughs roughly, knee working her thighs apart._

_She swallows past the lump of need in her throat. Her mouth feels empty without his against it. “Missed you.” she murmurs, turning her head back to find him, his eyes cat-bright in the dark of her room._

_He holds her tight against the mattress, nightdress caught around her waist- the scratch of his clothes, then his skin on her legs. There will be marks there in the morning, and blue handprints from where he held her apart, her red fingernails scored on his back. She tugs at the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel every inch of him, before he goes away again._

_In the morning, she’ll wake up aching and alone, her small bed empty, with barely an impression on the sheets to say he was ever there. But it doesn’t matter, for he will leave the marks of their love, their sin on her body, and she on his, and for a little while the night will be sweet._

_Her brother has come home._

_***_

_If Ori thinks back, really thinks, she can’t remember a time when her love for Nori wasn’t coloured by yearning. She barely saw him when she was young, but when she did he was always Nori, her brave dashing big brother like a trickster from a story book, disappearing as soon as he arrived, both times on the coat tails of Dori’s disapproval._

_He left things behind- hair pins, ink bottles, food and fabric and tiny bags of uncut jewels. Ori has a tin box beneath an odd floorboard which holds toffee wrappers, a blue ribbon and a wooden top, the presents Nori left for her when he would come and go like a shadow, when she was still a child and her love for him was as close to innocent as possible._

_Ori knows she is prone to flights of fancy, and the Nori of her childhood still holds a romantic pull over her imagination. It’s silly of course- she never knew him properly then, which is the entire problem._

_She could tell herself that, anyway. That he was never really her brother in the first place, that it is not so bad a thing she feels for him in a way so utterly inverse to siblinghood._

_And she knows it is inverse because she has Dori- Dori who is her brother by the same stretch of blood as Nori, but that is where the similarity ends. Dori has always been there, safe and familiar and tutting more often than not- and that’s how she loves him, in a warm sisterly way she sometimes wishes she could replicate for her middle brother._

_Only she never really wished that, because to wish that would be to lose Nori in the only way she knows how to keep him, and that she could not survive._

_***_

In the bed where she and Nori have broken Durin’s law countless incandescent times, Ori can still recall the first time he hoisted himself through her window. His hair, out of its usual peaks and slicked down by the rain, tickled the nape of her neck when he leant over to wake her up. The lamps out in the street were working for once, and threw yellow patterns across his face.

She was forty three years old, and hadn’t seen her brother in nearly two years. His hand clapped down hard on her mouth when she tried to say his name and left a film of grit, blood and rainwater behind. His neck was spotted with bruises and one of his sly dark eyes sported a similar mark, like a smudge of blue-black watercolours, the kind Mr Balin let her use sometimes when Fili and Kili went to sword practice.

“What happened?” she whispered, tasting his blood in her mouth. Nori grunted, pulling off his shirt. Familiar with the slight hunch of his shoulders, Ori got out of bed and skittered over to the washstand. When she turned back round with a bowlful of water, he was sitting on her bed.

His chest was patterned with small cuts, but the bruises seemed worse- some yellow, but most seemed fresh, piled heavy, one upon another. Ori knew she wasn’t particularly brave, but this was the first time she realised that seeing someone in pain could _hurt,_ sting right down in the marrow of her bones like his pain was somehow hers.

Biting her lip, she started trying to clean some of the blood away from Nori’s collarbone. He kept painfully still, his eyes fixed on the cloth as she twisted, dabbed, wrung it out and turned it red. She knew better than to ask what happened- had watched Dori do this too many times to think he would answer.

Then again, perhaps he might. He never responded to Dori’s patented blend of nagging and scolding with anything other than light hearted lies or inscrutable silence- but he’d always told Ori the truth.

But she still didn’t ask, because she knew the answer would not be pretty. Living in the old quarter of Ered Luin, Ori had seen her fair share of brawls- some of her stories shocked even Fili who was the king’s heir and had been preparing for battle his whole _life-_ but Nori’s ‘activities’ and those he did them with scared her, badly.

“Tell me if I hurt you.” Ori said when she moved on to the blackened skin of his neck- it looked almost like handprints, she realised, as though someone had fastened their hands round Nori’s throat and _tightened_ them.

Nori gave a ragged laugh, and Ori knew with a shock that someone _had_ tried to choke him when his voice came out hoarse and strained, Nori who did everything so effortlessly. “You couldn’t hurt me, poppet.”

Ori bridled, making a face at the childish nickname. He had called her that for as long as she could remember, ever since he would swagger in the door and slip sweets into her scarf pocket before Dori could shoo him out again. “Not a poppet.” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks go red.

“Oh really?” Nori said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“No.” she sniffed, fetching a fresh rag and attempting to untangle the grit from his three forked beard, pushing the long mane of his hair out of the way. Even looking like someone had mopped the floor with it, she could see why Nori’s hair was a subject of controversy- rather like Dori’s mithril eyes and silver locks, he drew a lot of attention- and speculation. Dori told her to pay no mind to the whispers, but Ori knew what people thought of those with the name _Ri_.

Not that there are many of them left. The dragon’s smoke took their grandparents, as well as Dori’s father. Snorri, their mother, died long enough ago that Ori could not remember her. They survive how they can, but people still talk. 

“Nah, you’re not I suppose.” Nori conceded, reaching out to take a strand of Ori’s own auburn hair between his fingers- she had it up in sleep braids, less intricate than the normal plaits Dori insisted on braiding for her every day  before she left for her lessons on the other side of the city.

 _“We may have to patch our clothes and count our pennies, lovie, but there is no excuse_ whatsoever _for shoddy braidwork.”_

Dori would be out working tonight, his own braids immaculate, what little jewellery mother didn’t pawn painstakingly worked into his clothes and beard. “More of a moppet, really.” Nori murmured, twisting her hair around his finger. “Like those little dolls you used to point at in the market, remember?”

Ori did remember, but she was surprised Nori did. “You drunk?” she asks, peering up at him.

“Ah, just a bit..” he said, then winced as she started to clean a cut over his eye. “M’sorry.” It was so quiet, that apology, she wondered afterward if he really did say it.

“You’re okay, though.” Ori says, unsure if she was asking or telling him.

“Course.” Nori sounded offended that she’d ask. “Takes more than some slate-sifter from the Iron Hills to get the jump over on me, moppet.”

Ori made another face, but Nori was already half asleep. He left as soon as his injuries healed (just as Dori was actually starting to forgive him for bringing trouble round). The nickname stayed.

***

Ten summers after that, Ori had kissed two dwarrows (one of them Fili, the other one of Nori’s associates who came looking for him and traded her a kiss in exchange for the bolts of cloth he’d just stolen off the window ledge) and grown two inches. Nori came through her window more often than he came through the front door. 

Ori missed him, missed him more the more he came back, with the kind of fierce ache she’d felt on seeing his bruises- as though a part of her was being slowly carved out with a small sharp knife. His absence troubled her in ways she didn’t understand, and his presence set her on edge in a way she was sure must be obvious to anyone who looked at her but she didn't dare speak of.

He and Dori settled from time to time into an uneasy truce, but it didn’t take much for them to squabbling like cats in a sack- which is what Ori walked in on one evening, her first step in the door punctuated by Dori banging a pot of soup down onto the table, his face creased into lines of irritation. “No.” he said firmly.

“No to what?” Ori asked, hanging up her scarf.

“Oh, hello lovie. Nothing to worry about, come and sit down.” Dori was speaking through gritted teeth and kept directing dark glances at the chair by the hearth where Nori was sitting, puffing on his pipe and scowling. As Ori walked past, Nori snagged the corner of her cardigan and pulled her to sit on the rug in front of him, tugging her messy braids free from their ties.

Nori let their older brother bustle about in silence for a few minutes, retying Ori’s hair with expert fingers. Once he completed the first braid, he leaned over her shoulder. His breath on her skin was cool and it made something itch at the pit of her stomach, but Ori ignored it. “Wanna learn to fight, moppet?” Nori whispered.

She started to turn round, but Nori’s whispers were nowhere near quiet enough to evade Dori’s notice and he rounded on them with a glare. “I said _no_. You pay him no mind, Ori.”

“All I’m saying is she might need-” Nori started, a distinct growl in his voice.

“And all I’m saying is _no-_ she doesn’t need to learn to fight, she has me to protect her and besides-”

“She has _both_ of us to protect her, but she’s an adult, she should be able to protect herself as well.” Nori said.

“You!” Dori scoffed. “Spare me. You’re never here, and when you are the guards are chasing you, so what pray tell me are you doing to _protect_ Ori?” Dori’s voice contained more acid than a lemon.

“I don’t know if I‘d be any good at fighting.” Ori piped up before Nori could snarl back at Dori- she sensed the defensive stiffening in his legs against her back, how his hands gripped her hair tightly enough that it would hurt if she moved. Her brother was ruled by his reflexes, fight or flight, and it wasn’t hard to tell which he was about to follow.

Dori’s face softened at Ori’s words, though his eyes were still hard as flint. “Oh, lovie, of course you would.” he said. “It’s just that there’s no need, that’s all. We’re safe here- well, safe as we could be.” He gave Nori a despairing look over Ori’s head, and rapped his spoon on the table, signifying the end of the matter.

If it were anyone other than Nori, it would have been exactly so. But Ori knows her brothers better than she knows herself, so when Nori showed up at the training yards, a cloth wrapped package under his arm, she wasn’t wholly surprised.

She’d been watching the princes’ practice like she did most days if Balin let her out early- they were going to be warriors after all, not scribes, they got the afternoons to train and they liked it when there was an audience. How Nori had managed to get past Dwalin onto the training grounds Ori would never know, but he pressed the package into her hands without a word.

The slingshot was expertly crafted, and the only reason she knew for sure it wasn’t stolen was the fact that it seemed to fit her hands perfectly. “You make this?” she asked Nori, passing her hand across the smooth wooden frame.

“Nah. Friend of mine fixed it up.” Nori was sticking close to the wall, even though everyone in the training yard was paying them no mind. “He makes toys normalwise, but he owed me a favour.”

Ori didn't question this- it was a nice story, which she of all people could appreciate, even though she knew Nori didn't have friends in a normal way- or a respectable one at least. “Can we practice now?” she asked. There were several small stones in the dirt at her feet that looked like they’d be good for flinging, but as she went to grab them Nori stopped her.

“Not here, moppet.” Nori’s eyes were doing that shifty thing again- Ori wondered why he’d come at all for a moment, then reproached herself. He had done this for her, _was_ doing it for her even though she was probably going to be awful at it. He hadn’t had to, but he was, and that made her feel warmer than she should.

“Were you going, Ori?” Kili called as she went to follow Nori’s retreating shape out of the yard.

“Ju-just home.” she told him, hoping the lie wouldn’t show on her face- she was rubbish at lying, which really made no sense since both her brothers were excellent liars- only Dori preferred to call it manners. “It’s getting late.”

Thankfully Kili, apt to suffer from a complete lack of guile on his own account, believed her. “You coming up the tavern tonight?” he asked, smiling. “After all, I need someone to help me manage Fee’s ego if he beats Deglr.”

“Dori’s home, I shouldn't.” Ori said hastily- truthfully Dori probably wouldn’t mind, especially if Fili, who Dori considered respectable and ‘a very good catch’ was going to be there- but she had no idea where Nori was even taking her.

Kili  pulled a commiserating  face, but his attention was soon drawn to the swords match going on and Ori was able to slip out of the side gates.

Nori took them the long way round, but it didn’t take Ori much time to work out where they were going- past the copper mines and the men’s settlement at the edge of Ered Luin where the trade caravans came in, down a few slopes and into the copse where the lake met the mountain.

She’d been here a few times before- mostly with Fili and Kili and the others from around town (she’d kissed Fili under the beech tree, or he’d kissed her, they’d both been nervous and his braids had tickled her face and then they’d laughed and agreed never to mention it again), and sometimes on her own when she wanted to draw.

“How’d you know bout this place?” she couldn’t help but wonder.

“I know every place, pet.” Nori gave her a wicked grin, producing a bag full of circular rocks and showing her how to bend back the string of the slingshot. “Think you could hit that tree?” he asked.

She didn’t, the first time, or the second. Nori was patient though, in a way she didn’t know he could be, never losing his temper when she buggered things up, correcting her grip and brushing her hair back when it fell into her eyes. And slowly, slowly, Ori began to learn.

They spent several afternoons down by the lake, and once Ori, frustrated by a string of missed shots, hurled herself onto the ground next to where Nori was sprawled. He sighed and curled an arm round her, let her tuck her head into his shoulder in faux-melancholy. Nori’s arm tightened, holding her firmly to him. She didn’t so much mind, but a kind of awareness hummed through her, prickling and warm. 

Perhaps it was only her imagination, but there was something illicit in his touches, in the _don’t tell Dori_ that went unspoken between them the more they came down to the lake and she found herself grapling with an inaudible emotion. She didn’t even know what it was, only that it meant trouble.

“Nori…” she asked eventually, not bothering to raise her head from his shoulder- they could interpret each-other's slightest twitch or stiffened muscle, there was no need for _looking_.

“Hmmm.” Nori’s murmur was lazy- the sun was out and the lake glistened prettily next to them, like a picture in a book if it weren’t for the rocks lying scattered everywhere from Ori’s practice.

“Why’re you teaching me fighting?” Ori continued. “Cos Dori’s right, y’know- I don’t really _need_ to learn.” And some of the things Nori was trying to teach her- how to claw out an eye or hobble someone quickly, and the sensitive part of the gut you could hit with your elbow- didn't seem like the sort of things she was supposed to know.

Nori shifted a little, thumb rubbing idly at the line of stitching near the hip of Ori’s tunic. “Cos you _do_ need to. All sorts lurking about, aren’t there?” A short, bitter laugh followed this assessment.

Ori thought for a moment. “Like Gir?”

Nori cursed lowly. “Yes. Not that he’ll be bothering you again.”

“He wasn’t bothering me. He was nicking Dori’s new cotton bolts.” Ori protested, feeling her cheeks redden at the realisation that Gir had told Nori about the kiss she’d let him swipe.

“He _touched_ you.” Nori pushed himself up and cupped Ori’s face with both hands, smiling a little to see her blush. “What if he’d wanted more than a kiss, moppet? What then?”

Ori sat up too, leaning forward to knock her forehead against Nori’s- she was old enough to do it properly now, but when his hand came up to grip the nape of her neck she still let him hold her there. “Id’ve kicked him where the sun don’t shine, and pushed him out the window.” she whispered fiercely. “Dori’s taught me that much.”

“And you still let the likes of Gir kiss you.” Nori drew off and looked her unusually deep in the eyes, and Ori was struck by the things that separated them- him lean and dark and sharper than a blade, her small, soft and utterly unthreatening- yet they were  bound, close and immeasurably distant, by blood and by heart. She looked at his mouth, and wondered how it would feel pressed against hers, lingering overlong like he sometimes did when he kissed her cheek or her forehead. She felt warm, and a little terrified.

“Well he’s good looking, in’t he?” Ori joked. Gir _was_ good looking- dark haired and tall with deep hooded eyes and an enviable forked beard- but she felt the wrongness in saying so to Nori before the words were out of her mouth.

Nori didn’t say anything or even frown, just scoffed a little and rubbed his fingers together, as Ori had seen him do when he wanted to steal something but couldn’t. He picked up Ori’s slingshot and pressed it back into her hands. “Go on.” he urged. “Once more, for me.”

“For you.” Ori agreed, giving him a quick hug before standing up. “Thankyou Nori.”

***

Nori left. He always left eventually, but this time there was no rhyme or reason to it. He’d evaded the guards for months, long enough that Ori could hit a moving target with her slingshot and Dori no longer scowled so much as he used to, but he left all the same.

She didn’t cry- not much. She was a Ri, and Ri’s were built tough. Even so, when Dori came in from work the night afterward and found her miserably spinning her wooden top on the hearthstone, she didn’t protest when he gathered her into his arms. “There now, lovie.” Dori murmured, stroking her hair.

“Don’t say it.” she begged. “Don’t say we’re better off.”

“I was going to say nothing of the kind.” Dori said reprovingly. “I know how much you…love him.”

Love wasn’t wholly the right word. Need was a better one, but even that seemed to fall short, and Dori would not _understand_. 

“Sorry.” Ori said miserably, feeling very foolish.

“Hush now. He’ll turn up sooner or later.” Dori said ruefully. “Bad pennies always do.”

Dori was right of course. Nori reappeared a year later- in a fashion, tipping through her window one night and nestling up to her, pressing kisses on her cheeks like sorries. Ignoring the swoops in her stomach at the touch of his mouth on her skin, she wrapped her arms round him, felt that unaccountable warmth pulsing through her, and made him promise not to go without saying anything again. He snorted. “They’ll have to drag me off.”

***

Saying things shouldn’t make them true, but sometimes it does. Nori kept his promise for near on five years- in and out as always, but not without saying goodbye.

Two days before Ori turned sixty, though, Gir and another dwarf were knocking on the door in the early morning and saying Nori had been arrested, dragged off to jail and since they owed him big but were short on funds (and wanted themselves) they thought Dori might help out.

She didn’t even think to tell Dori- just shoved her boots on, grabbed the coins she’d got from selling one of her better translations and shot off to the guardhouse in her night things and cardigan.

It wasn’t easy bailing Nori out of his cell- in fact it seemed more to Ori like bribing, even when Mr Dwalin showed up and grunted out some orders, there was a faint feeling of underhandedness to the process. She couldn’t help but think of all the times that Dori had had to do this, of the _looks_ he’d have garnered- everyone knowing what he did for a living, how he spent the nights, and he was beautiful and painfully polite…

Ori knew they were looking askance at her too, but she thought that was more due to the fact that her hair was falling all over the place and her nightdress was stained with mud from running through the wheelworks. That didn’t stop Nori from dragging her out of there faster than she could walk when they finally unlocked his cell door, a wild look in his eyes.

Two days later, she found him putting up his hair into travelling braids.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” she asked.

“You sound like Dori used to.” He quipped, and Ori felt something in herself fracture.

“Don’t.” she said, her chest going tight.

“Don’t go?” he asked. “And put you in that guardhouse full of horny pigs again? I don’t think so, moppet.”

“Don’t push me out. I don’t want us to end up like you and Dori.” She looked at Nori briefly- he was glaring at her, something unknowable in his eyes, not quite anger, not quite sorrow. “Please.” she begged, realising with horror that this time she _was_ crying, fat tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh, Ori…” Nori pulled her to him, into his lap, locking his arms round her waist. She should have felt trapped. Instead she felt safe, and a little like her heart was breaking. He was her brother, he wasn’t supposed to be the one to break her heart. “Ori love…”

“Not your love.” she protested.

“Yeah.” Nori agreed, and kissed the edge of her eyelids. He did not tell her everything was going to be alright. He did not promise not to go, or to come back. “Gonna miss you, little sister.”

“Then don’t _go_.” She pleaded, curling her hands into his shirt. He smelt of cheap copper coins, of home, of _her_. She wanted to kiss him if that would make him stay, and the thought should have made her innards revolt but it didn’t, and that made her cry even harder. Because it just might work, and she knew she wasn’t brave enough.

Their eyes met, briefly, and she felt as though he knew what she was thinking of, and she felt even stronger that she could have kissed him then and he’d have let her, he’d have kissed her back without a care that she was his sister.

One day, he would. One day, he would kiss her deep on the mouth and murmur that her nose was cold. One day he would bring his lips down on hers like a lash, pick her up in his arms and hold her close, her legs round his waist, her tunic hanging off her shoulder, his hand plucking greedily at her breast, sending a sweet biting feeling between her legs. One day they'd press and pant and let their need loose at each other and it still would not be enough to sate it entirely. But not that day.

That day, Nori held her and she held him and she woke up in the rocking chair tucked in blankets with the fire burning but the house empty. She told herself that wanting to kiss Nori was a moment of hysterical imagination, and took herself off to bed before Dori got home.

***

_Dori is her brother, that much is beyond doubt. There are features they share, a mother they share even if their fathers are a world apart. He had every right to turn her (and Nori for that matter, if he weren’t already long gone) out on the street the second mother died, cleanse the betrayal of his father’s memory. But Dori never would. Dori is the one who taught her what family **was**. _

_He never got the chance to teach Nori, though._

_Nori is her brother, that much is beyond doubt- there are features that they share, a mother that they share even if their fathers are a world apart. Perhaps, Ori thinks sometimes (not often), their bastard blood, their mother’s refusal to stay alone after Dori’s father’s death, is what makes them the way they are. The poison that corrupted them, led to them doing what they did._

_What they still do. Nothing can stop it but them, and neither of them will. Matters of time more than anything else, of shorter and shorter separations, the red string of secrets twining them tighter together each time they touch. It amazes her that she can even hide it, although she knows why they must._

_Kin must not lie with kin. For a brother to take his sister is a sin not only against their Maker’s intent but against their own blood and honour, the purity of their line._

_The line of Ri was not so pure to begin with, and Ori is almost certain that honour is something some storyteller made up. And if it is real, it is nothing compared to what she feels when Nori laces his fingers through hers, nothing to the ache when he is gone and the hum when he is near._

_It had all happened so fast, spiralling out from that one thought-_ **if I kiss him will he stay** _\- and she discovered her kisses could hold him, her body could anchor Nori to home, even if it was an unforgiveable sin to even_ want _him. She gave up fighting._

_She doesn’t know how else to be, how else to feel for him._

_And worst thing, she doesn’t want to feel anything else._

_***_

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm continuing this because I won't be able to write anything else until I get it out of my system.  
> Posting this very late at night and am quite tired, so if anyone spots any typos or errors please let me know.

_“Promise me.” he levies himself up against his sister’s body, already missing the soft scent of her, the racing pulse against his lips._

_“Anything.” Ori says sweetly, smiling the way she only does for him._

_“If they ever catch us-” he kisses her slow, slow as he can, to stop the shaking that started the second she realised what he was saying- “if anyone **ever** finds out…” no more kisses now, just his touch against her lips to stop her from arguing. “You tell them I forced you.” _

_“Nori-”_

_“Tell ‘em I forced you and you were too scared to say anything. No one’ll question it. I’m a bad sort, after all.” Nori quirks his lip, trying to make a kind of joke out of it._

_A bad sort. That’s true enough, he’s not about to deny it. No good dwarf would have his cock deep between his sister’s legs and feel better than a miner uncovering a vein of mithril. It’s not that which bothers him so much. Nori knows he’s not a good dwarf by any stretch._

_He’d always wanted to be a good brother though._

_Fucked things up with Dori, no chance there. They muddle along, shouting and throwing things on occasion, avoiding one another more often than not._

_Ori though…Ori, his sweet baby sister with her auburn braids and dotted freckles, her bell-like laugh and inky fingers- he’s fucked things up here too, rather more literally. She’s looking up at him with those big dark eyes, half like he hung the moon and half like he’s just suggested she weave him a rope to hang_ himself _with._

_Which is close enough to accurate. He’ll take it though, take the noose for Ori, take the shame and the revulsion of their fellow dwarrows. He’ll not let them have her though. He might have done this much to her, with her, and perhaps it’s the most selfish thing he’s ever conceived but he won’t let her die with him._

_She’s thinking the same, because her brow is crinkled gently, closest to a frown she ever comes, and she places her hands on his back to still him when he attempts to move into her again, bury himself. “No.” she says._

_“Ori-”_

_“No.” As if it’s as simple as that. “We get caught we **run**. Go away east where no one knows us, change our names, our braids…” She squirms underneath him when his fingers enter her, spreading her slowly, making her pupils swell and her legs tremble. “Nori…” she murmurs, shifting against him. _

_“I know, moppet. I’m here.” he murmurs. She makes it sound so sweet, so honest, that for a moment he almost believes it could work. That they could run away and live like lovers, in some place she’s most probably read about but hasn’t seen._

_Nori’s seen most places, and he knows there’s not a place in the world this would be accepted. Even if they lied, lied till the stone sang their untruths back to them and made them believe it themselves, the sin is in their blood. It will outlast them. When they reach Mahal’s halls, judgement will be there waiting._

_Or so he could believe. But he has Ori right here in his arms, mussed and sweet and singing for him, and, let them damn him to the highest of hells, he’s happy._

_***_

“Scuse me?” said a small voice. Nori looked up to find its owner somehow managing to look up at him, despite the fact that he was lounging on the steps to Dori’s place with his back against the doorframe. The speaker managed this by virtue of the fact that she was _tiny,_ barely taller than when he'd last seen her, chewing on the tail of her mousy braid and blinking her big brown eyes at him. “What’re you doing?” She continued.

Nori almost swore- surely he hadn’t been gone _that_ long. “Nothin’, poppet.” He grinned and pushed his hood down.

Ori’s eyes lit up and she launched herself at him with a gasp, laughing happily when he wrapped his arms around her. “Di’nt you know it was me, Ori?” he said, looking down at her quick and assessing- there was a slight fluff of beard on her neck and new freckles on her nose, the high colour of her cheeks brightened even more by the cool air.

“I weren’t _sure_.” Ori said carefully, knocking her forehead against his. “You always look different.”

“Tricks of the trade, luv.” Nori reminded her. He glanced up and down the road- it was getting to dusk, not many dwarrows about but you could never be too careful, especially if your name was Nori of Ri and the guardsmen had a price on your head.

He let Ori pull him inside and get Dori’s special tea things out, and as she did so he was making quick inventory of the things they’d need before he skipped the mountain. Table was looking a little wobbly, and the curtains needed replacing. He’d seen some pretty fabric on the lacemakers stall down across from the alehouse, just the fancy-looking sort Dori would like.

When Ori handed him his tea he noticed how red her fingers were, new calluses marking up the line of her thumb and forefinger. “What’s all this, then?” he asked, examining the marks.

“I got an apprenticeship.” Ori said, going even pinker than usual, but she sounded proud as well. Nori raised an eyebrow and she srunched up her nose. “Doing scribework for Lord Balin.”

Nori almost spat out his tea. “Balin Fundinson? The King’s bloody spin merchant?”

Ori frowned at him. “It’s a proper position.” She said carefully. “I’m thirty five now, and- and Lord Balin is a very respectable dwarrow. Dori says-”

“Dori says.” Nori nodded. “Of course he does.”

“Don’t be like that.” Ori said, and Nori was surprised by how plaintive she sounded. As though she truly wanted him to be pleased for her, cared enough for his opinion. “You’re not _here,_ you don’t live here, you don’t-”

“Ori, poppet.” Nori murmured, turning her hands over gently, frowning at the craft-marks. “You know what I mean. We’re not…like them.”

Ori looked down at the rug, eyes tracing the worn pattern. “We’re Ri.” She murmured, and for the life of him Nori couldn’t tell if it was a protest or acceptance. He couldn’t tell which would be worse. Mahal’s balls, he’d been back barely a day and already he’d managed to mess something up.

He sighed and levied himself down to sit knee to knee with Ori, their legs tangling together like copper roots in a deep mine. “You wanna be a scribe, poppet?”

“Mmhmm.” Ori said shyly, her long lashes casting shadows on her face. “More than anything. It- it’s my true craft.” She spoke almost reverentially.

Nori gave her hands a squeeze- she was so little, dammit, little but tough as all dwarves were made, strong enough to endure the hardships of a world that never wanted them. “Good. S’long as it makes you happy. That’s all.”

It wasn't of course, but Ori’s bright grin returned and she took another sip of tea. “It does. And it means I get to see Fee and Kili even though we don’t take lessons together so much.”

“Ah, still hobnobbing with royalty, are we? No wonder you’ve started talkin’ all posh.” Nori said, mock-serious.

This time, Ori realised he was teasing. “Have not!” she protested, knocking her leg into his.

“Have so.” He replied, draining his mug (Ori had wisely avoided taking out the china teacups).

“You’re s’posed to be a grown up.” Ori pointed out sweetly, pivoting on the rug until she could lean against his chest, Nori’s legs on either side of hers. He stroked her hair again, glad to be home even if he couldn’t stay, gladder still she didn’t yet hate him for leaving so long. He did a double take at her words, though.

“Wait a minute- says who?”

***

If he had known then what would happen, he might have cut and run, left for the last time. But she was just a kid then. Took a few years for him to fall properly, but perhaps it was inevitable. She was the best thing he had, and if he ended up loving her wrong it was too late by the time he realised.

It started in her bed of course, with a hangover and the soft shape of her supple little form against him and putting his hands on her because he felt right all of a sudden, felt _home_. She'd been all of fifty then, but he knew that didn't make it any better. He’d broken laws by the hundred, with impunity and not a shred of guilt, but this was different. This was his _sister_ , and he couldn’t shed the feel of her skin from beneath his fingers and it was then that he knew.

Knew he was going to have to leave again, even when she unfurled from the kittenish ball she was sleeping in and looked up at him with no idea of what he’d just been about. He’d had to fight to keep from touching her again, even in the most innocent of ways, because even an innocent touch felt tainted.

As if, honed by years of wanting everything he couldn’t have and having no trouble taking it, something sick had started under his skin and was urging him to touch her. Because he needed her, always needed her, her smiles and her skinny hands in his and her undeserved loyalty, needed _so much_ and it would feel so-

He didn’t touch. Not then. He left, and for a time, he forgot. He could deny his want, put it down to bad pipeweed, to too much ale the night before, to the fact that there was something twisted in him driving him to her and he’d never been much good at stopping once he started.

Thing was, he _loved_ Ori- loved her more than anything, perhaps, had done since she was a little shrimp toddling around in oversized woollens, trusting and timid. But it was near impossible, given how long he’d been away in the early years, for him to reconcile the dim memories of Ori as a child with who she was now- bright and blushing, still shy and trusting and _his_ in some intangible way he did not think he could articulate aloud.

These were all excuses, of course. Nori was an expert in the art of a good excuse, made it hard to believe them when he was feeding them to himself. She was his little sister and aside from loving her far too much he wanted to **fuck** her, that was the plain truth of it.

Wanted to kiss her mouth and her tits and her cunt, wanted to touch every part her, mark her up and leave his prints on her skin. Wanted her for his, only his, _wanted-_

It was no use thinking of her as forbidden. The poison only worked faster that way. He told himself that Ori would be disgusted if she knew, would look at him with shock and hurt and maybe even fear in her eyes.

That did the trick alright. Whatever unnatural desire had taken hold of him, the thought that it might make Ori hate him was enough to at least bury the urges if not scupper them entirely. He could control himself for her sake, keep well away.

Nori told himself this, believed it even and it worked, worked so well at quashing his feelings that he was completely blindsighted by the viciousness of their return. He hadn’t planned on meeting Gir at the Dunland tavern where they usually did business- he’d thought the Broadbeam dwarf had settled permanently in Ered Luin after their last narrow escape down south.

Nevertheless, they were colleagues, and Gir said he had a proposition, so Nori ordered another drink and invited the dark haired dwarf to pull up a pew.

“Where’ve you been these past months, then?” Gir asked, tipping back his ale with abandon. Nri sipped more cautiously at his- true, he liked Gir, but it never hurt to keep a cool head when discussing business.

“Ask me no questions-” he winked in response to the question-

“And you’ll tell me no lies, aye.” Gir shot back. “But you’ve been gone awhile. Things’ve changed back in the Blue Mountains.”

“That so?” Nori asked, making a show of contemplating the interior of his tankard.

“More’n you’d think.” Gir nodded wisely. “That bloke, Thorin- he’s been making quite a bit of trouble.”

“The King?” Nori feigned surprise.

“No, my Aunt Leira’s fancy man, course I mean the King.” Gir rolled his eyes. “Though he’s not king of nothing at the moment, and ain’t he sour about it- no offence.” Gir tipped his head and Nori waved it off, gesturing for him to continue. He hadn’t truly been a proper Longbeard for a while now- Ma was his only link to Durin’s folk, even ‘on the wrong side of the blanket’ as Dori liked to put it, and she was long dead.

“He’s been throwing his weight around on the Council, is what I hear- and those nephews of his are right cocky troublemakers. You want to keep to keep your little one away from them.” Gir said.

This time, Nori’s shock was entirely real. “What, Ori?” He almost choked on his ale. 

“The very same. Pretty little piece she is too, got all sorts after her.” Gir drained his tankard, then smirked as he saw Nori’s hand fly to his nearest knife. "Skinny, y'know, but she's got a nice arse." he added innocently. 

Nori grimaced, locking every inch of his body into a tight, regimented control. He ought to have expected this- Gir had a unique talent for finding someone’s pressure point and jabbing it hard- that was what made him such a good con, and previously Nori had admired him for it. “Fuck you.” Nori said succinctly, spinning the knife between his fingers. It was a small, dart sharp piece, one he’d picked up in the meeting point between East and West a few years back.

Gir eyed the knife and looked a mix of wary and unimpressed. “Never imagined you as the protective sort.” he said, which Nori knew full well _Gir_ knew was a lie- Nori was liable to start a fight with anyone who so much as mentioned his elder brother, which given Dori’s line of work was a lot more frequently than not.

But Ori- shit, he had never realised that other people were even looking, so caught up in trying to deny his own lust. Anger surged beneath his skin, and Nori wished he could attribute it wholly to the same protective impulse he felt whenever Dori’s name was dragged through the mud. But it wasn’t just that, it was something else underneath that, the bone deep possessiveness of their kind and his own grubby longing, _mine she’s **mine** you don’t even look at her you filthy-_

Aule’s tits, he was in over his head. “Full of surprises, me.” Nori said lightly, and when Gir settled back into his seat, he moved whip fast- plunging the knife down an inch from where the other dwarf’s hand had been not a moment ago.

Gir just laughed- a little shakily maybe, but still with a hint of derision. “Not so much. Mind you, if that’s all you’ve got in you maybe next time I’ll try for more than a kiss, get her on-”

Nori did not kill him. The poison did not have him that deep yet, the snarling, animal fury that someone had even laid a finger on _his_ Ori, the only good pure thing he had in this world and he couldn’t even own to it. What he did was pummel Gir’s face into a fine mess of blood and bruises and threaten to slit him end to end if he ever came near Ori again.

The other dwarf had signified his understanding as best he could with two busted lips and Nori’s fist against his throat, but still Nori could not get the words out of his head- _all sorts after her, more than a kiss, pretty little piece…_

It wasn’t as though he was entitled to any kind of moral high-ground. His own thoughts were enough for him to get his beard shorn if anyone even _guessed-_ let alone the consequences should he let himself lay a finger on her. They'd geld him before they hung him, most likely, if he did half of what he sometimes thought. 

That didn’t stop him from heading back though. Sneaking past the guards, weathering Dori’s disapproval, all with one particular purpose- teaching Ori to fight. He’d thought about just giving her a knife and showing her where to stick it, but she didn’t have the kind of instincts to kill up close and personal, so he got onto Bofur and reminded his old friend of a bet Nori had been so kind as not to collect on, and soon enough Ori was a dab hand with a slingshot.

He taught her a little extra, but he could tell even that bothered her. Knives would've terrified her. He’d forgotten, dammit, just how innocent his baby sister was.

How easily corrupted, even if she was long past childhood.

It stirred in those easy afternoons down by the lake, the realisation that he could’ve had her, could’ve kissed her and touched her to his heart’s content and she would’ve let him, maybe even liked it. He was good with his hands, he could make it good for her, make her feel it long after so she’d never want anyone but him _-_

But perhaps he did have a shred of honour left after all. If he loved her enough to want her, he knew she deserved better than him. He couldn’t completely ignore the stars in her big brown eyes or how her shape fit against him as well as if they were made for each other (and what a profanity that was, to taint the purity of the One, even the idea of it, with his selfish lust for his sister).

“For you.” she was apt to say, bouncing on the balls of her feet and gamely keeping her promises. Ori was _good,_ in the same way that Dori was but with more idealism in her, more hope and so much faith- faith in _him_ , in Nori which he would not destroy for anything, even to hold her as he yearned to.

Funny, how he’d once thought romantic love was as much a fairy-tale as the ones Ori read about in books, something that belonged in songs and stories, not the real world- and then she went and proved him wrong without even trying. Out of all the dwarrows in the world, it had to be her.

But she _wasn’t_ for him, even if it was getting hard to remember. He had always known there was something wrong in him, something that led him astray from settling down to a craft and being ‘respectable’, a wandering stain from his unknown father, perhaps, that had caused his sticky fingers and wild avarice. 

Bastards had no right to a name, a line, to any kind of pride. But the line of Ri was a bastard one anyway, and his blood was the murkiest of the three of them. He had no memory of his father and only vague ones of Ori’s, a Stonefoot mercenary with two gold teeth and eyes as dark as caves, a kind hearted idiot who had got himself killed fighting in the borderlands before Ma even realised she was carrying.

Nori had been gone when Ori was born, hadn’t even known about her until months later, had barely been near her in the early years. _Excuses_. He had formed a habit of drinking deeper and deeper from the cup of self-denial, making a deluded martyr of his own barely-there conscience until it almost seemed like it would be easier to just give in.

But easy wasn’t good enough, and it was on him to remember that. Applying responsibility to himself still seemed laughable, but the other half of him was still there, waiting for him to trip up, to tire of ignoring his baser urges and to tug Ori into his arms, to bury himself inside her and spend his passions and _keep_ her because it would never, never be enough just once, and he could keep her _safe_ too, safe from the Old Quarter of Ered Luin, safe from dirtbags like Gir, safe from the eyes that followed her on her way to her tutor.. _._

But not safe from himself. Not safe from the shame and the degradation that would come, the pain they’d cause Dori, the pain that would come for them both, if he even for a moment touched her in a way more or less than brotherly.

                                                                                                                                                  ***

His luck didn’t hold forever. One job gone wrong (he might’ve known working with Gir again was a mistake, but in their line of work grudges can be easily put aside in lieu of a weighty payoff) and here he was locked up in the guardhouse. They were planning on keeping him here, he overheard, not moving him to the lockup he’d escaped from time and again.

He could wait, and hope Dori would come along and pay him out. He didn’t count on it, though, and already he was working on a way out. Window too high, cell too easily visible from the front of the guardhouse, lock could be picked but it would take time, didn’t look like the smug dwarrows who had brought him in and were now waiting for Fundinson to turn up and pat them on the head planned on leaving anytime soon.

Nori’s fingers were itching. He hadn’t been able to finish the job, and that always left a bad taste in his mouth. He was, after all, a professional, and screw ups weren’t good for business or reputation. Mind you, that’s what he got for coming back to Ered Luin. Thrown off his game the instant he stepped foot-

Oh Mahal’s balls, _no_.

“Scuse me?” Her voice was just as small as it had been when she was barely more than a kid, and Nori felt his heart sink right down to his boots.

Of all the sights in the world, Ori in her nightdress was the one that could most quickly make him curse himself to hell and back. The thing was two sizes too small and clung to her indecently, pressed against her sweet curves, rosy skin all too visible and oh Aule save him he wasn’t the only one _looking._

“What exactly can I do for you, little miss?” One of the guards, who Nori decided right there and then was a smarmy git as well as far too handy with his cudgel, thankyou very much, stepped in front of Ori and smiled.

Nori fought not to move, not to react as Ori fisted her hands in her cardigan and shot a furtive glance around the room. “Erm, you- he got arrested.” She stepped out of the guardsman’s shadow and put a small bag on the table, peering over at Nori.

The entire guardhouse erupted in a chorus of smothered laughs and low whistles, and Nori couldn’t even look at his sister, couldn’t even give her that small comfort because he was too ashamed of bringing her here, of the fact that this was the first time but probably wouldn’t be the last. _Fuck_.

“What’s a nice young dwarrowdam like you doing out of bed for a sneak thief?” The guardsman asked, pacing a circle round Ori. “He been slipping you a little something your parents don’t know-”

“He’s my _brother_.” Ori said, and Nori could imagine the look in her eyes without having to see, how fiercely she claimed him, just like always. His little sister.

Another round of laughter. “So you’re a Ri.” It wasn’t a question, didn’t need to be.

“How much do I need to pay?” Ori said over the chorus of mutters and laughs.

“Now then, little Ri, no need to rush-”

They were circling her like a pack of vultures, these so called honourable guardsmen, and just when Nori thought he could stand it no longer the door banged open. Never thought he’d be glad to see the stone faced younger son of Fundin, but there you go.

“Right, this had better be good, ‘cause I- what are you doing here, lass?” Dwalin looked Ori up and down, brow rumpling.

Ori’s eyes went very wide and she wrapped her arms around herself. “They…they- I’m sorry Mr Dwalin sir only my brother-”

“Oh. Him.” Dwalin was awarded Nori an even more judgemental glance than usual before returning his attention to Ori. “Ye shouldn’t waste yer time, girl.”

Nori dug his nails into his palms- perhaps Dwalin was right, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to tear the guardhouse down to its foundations at the look on Ori’s face. “I don’t know what you…is there a reason I _can’t_ bail him out?” She said timidly, obviously struggling to find a line between questioning and polite.

It made Nori feel sick, to see her humiliated like this, all those eyes on her and not all of them merely sympathetic. Dwalin seemed to notice too, because with a huff he waved an arm at the guardsmen and started threatening to knock heads together if they didn’t all wind their necks in and get back to work.

“Which of you brought him in, then?” he asked, drawing Ori towards him with a grip on her elbow that made Nori want to cut his hand off, no matter how famed Fundinson was for his _honour_.

Like that meant _anything_. Nobs could do what they wanted to nothings like Nori’s family, and would do as well.

Eventually, Dwalin managed to get the story out of them, and- and here Nori congratulated himself, he wasn’t top of the wanted thieves list for _nothing_ after all- the complete lack of any evidence that would let them hold him. Everyone knew that a little gold under the table was enough to grease the wheels in Ered Luin- apply the right pressure and the whole rotten cart would trundle to a stop.

Nori’s queue to hop off, and if he could make Fundinson look like he was about to explode in the process, all the better. Soon as they undid his shackles he grabbed Ori and hustled her out, down the steps and into the street, getting them away from the guardshouse as fast as possible.

“Nori, slow _down_.” She protested, shivering in the cold air. Her lips were quartz pink, her cheeks twin rubies. Dewy brown eyes peered up at him and said _I love you, it’s fine, it’s alright._

It was not alright.

Making a derisive noise, he tucked his arm around her waist- it was winter, he reasoned, and she had come running to fetch him in only her chemise and cardie. She needed keeping warm. Still, when she happily nestled against him he let himself drop a kiss onto the top of her head, and if he stretched out the walk home some it was only so he could avoid the gossips at the market, keep them from telling Dori he’d been nicked again.

“What’d you take?” Ori asked after they turned the corner.  

“Nothing worth you coming to get me for, moppet. I’m gonna _kill_ Gir.”

Ori wriggled her shoulders. “You shouldn’t. He and Risni are gonna have a baby.”

“How’d you know that?” Nori asked, honestly surprised.

“I just heard.” Ori said innocently, which Nori knew full well was code for ‘I snuck out to the tavern on Lock Street’, having practically perfected just the same tone in his own youth. He sniffed a laugh and tucked Ori closer against him, feeling oddly proud-

 _No._ Down that way of thinking lay only trouble, and he’d already done enough by getting himself caught. Ori wasn’t like him, wasn’t meant for this life. “You being good, luv?” he asked, past the thickness in his throat that made him want to cradle her against him and make her promise never to court the same danger he did.

She hummed in reply and Nori briefly shut his eyes, turning his head to the bright strands of her hair and wondering whether he should thank Mahal or curse him for giving him Ori- his sister who he loved, and wanted to protect because she was small and innocent and his own, his blood, and she made him want to be better. Who he coveted and ached for and wanted to pull away with him whenever he forced himself to leave her.

But that would break Dori’s heart, and Nori couldn’t do that to his brother no matter how much bad blood was between them, so he broke his own instead. Left. But this time, he realised he was breaking hers- when she found him and cried and pleaded with him to stay. But he couldn’t of course, knowing what the cost would be, his thread of control worn so thin that if he touched her one more time it would snap.

***

He was holding her too tight. He knew it, he was gripping her too hard with his arms around her shoulders and in her hair, and the taste of pepper on her lips made him think of ash and smoke and kingdoms burning, and he needed to hold her tighter because any second he was going to wake up.

“ _Nori_.” Her little hands settled gently against his chest, not pushing, just resting there like they did this everyday. He’d dreamed about kissing her so many times that it took him a second to realise that no, definitely not asleep. The chill wind still caught in the room despite the closed door him made that very clear, as did Ori’s swift breaths, misting on the air.

It’d taken him five winters to find his way back to her.

“Your nose is cold.” He murmured, still drugged on the brief taste of her mouth. It’d been an accident, he hadn’t meant to kiss her, he’d come in and he’d hugged her and they’d just-

“That how they say hello in the East?” Ori asked when he broke away from her, shocked at his own stupidity. And dammit, she was giving him an out from his own mucky desires and it _hurt,_ he wanted her that badly.

“Just about, moppet. Why’ve you not set a fire? Colder than an elf’s bollocks in here.” Nori looked around the room- it was dark, only a few candles lit, and Ori had a slew of papers spread across the table, business accounts. Taking in work to make ends meet then. Things must be bad if Dori was allowing that. He cursed himself for staying away so long.

She didn’t answer, just came up behind him and plastered herself against his back, arms up around his. “Missed you.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry.” He said, feeling himself getting hard, wondering what she’d do if he kissed her again, got his hands under her clothes, pulled out her braids and buried his face in her soft, sweet smelling hair, found out if that ticklish spot at the crook of her neck was just as sensitive beneath his mouth as his fingers...

“What for?” she asked. “You haven’t done anything.”

“Yeh.” He replied, taking her hand in his and rubbing it warm. “I should’ve…”

“You came back. You always come in winter. Bit like in a story.”

He pulled away, going cold himself all of a sudden. “Life ain’t a story, moppet.” He said.

Ori didn’t look upset, or not upset as if his words had hurt her, anyway. “It is, though. Maybe not a nice one, but in the end, stories, they’re all we’ve got.”

He looked at her, standing there in her bedsocks and mittens in the dead of night, pure certainty in her eyes and mouth pressed into a line. Her eyes still said _I love you, please stay I love you,_ but fuck if he knew what he’d done to deserve it.

“You read that in a story as well?” Nori asked, putting on his best smirk. Not knowing why, not really.

Ori twitched like she’d been stung and the guilt came rushing in, warring with _you said the right thing, for her own good, she needs to stop daydreaming_ , Mahal help him he sounded like Dori and for once Nori didn’t need to ask himself why all he wanted right now was to touch her and make it up to her, feel her underneath him, around him, because what the fuck good was he as a brother? He didn’t even know how to be one.

“I’ll make up the couch.” Ori said quickly, and before he could even try and say something in reply, she turned and, for once, left him.

She wouldn't talk to him for three days. Not like she was sulking, but she went out of her way to avoid being around him alone, rushing off with those bloody princelings whenever she could, taking her papers up to her room and shutting the door, avoiding his eyes at meals.

It was no less than he deserved, but that kind of thing built up. Dori, used to his siblings being thick as thieves (his words not Nori’s), was shooting him ‘what have you done _now’_ looks. These swiftly moved into ‘I don’t care what you've done just _fix_ it’ looks, and the elder brother made his point clearer by leaving ‘on an errand’ one afternoon just after Ori got in from the scriveners.

“Is there any bread left?” Ori asked in an offhand way, bending over the stove and pointedly not looking at Nori. He was sitting on the hearthstone, sharpening the kitchen knives. “If we need more I’ll have to go to the- what?” She stopped as he caught hold of her sleeve and didn’t let go.

“Ori, I’m-”

“If you say sorry I’m going to dump this stewpot on your head, Nori.” She said calmly.

“You know I wouldn’t say that.” He sprung to his feet, manoeuvred Ori backward with his hands on her wrists, then let go. He touched her cheek gently- it was enough to make her look up at him, brown eyes full of something he couldn’t really be seeing.

“Why’d you always do that?” she asked, looking at his hands.

“Do what, moppet?” The room wasn’t that warm, not really.

“Pull away from me. _Leave_ me.” Ori said, so quiet and so sad she sounded almost like she was holding back tears. “No that’s not- that’s not right, you leave but you never really go, it’s like you’re under my skin and its scratching to get out whenever you’re near and I don’t-”

“Stop.” He begged, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her against him, tucking her head down against his neck so he wouldn’t do something stupid, rocking her gently. “Stop, Ori, it’s alright.”

“It’s not.” She said. “It’s all wrong, you’re my _brother_. I love you, I love you, Nori, _nadadel_ -”

“ _Sannith_.” He murmured in reply. He couldn’t just let her say it, let her strip them both down to the bare bones until all that was left was the twisted thing that tied them, knotting them closer than kin should ever, ever be.

She looked up at him, looked despairing, like she couldn’t stop herself. “Why’re we like this?” she asked, then pressed a kiss to his collarbone. And then another. “Why-”

Ask him later, how he got her up onto the table, how her legs spread out around his body, how he rutted against her desperately and she _let_ him, wanted him, held him hard and begged him to touch her more, touch her there, to please please do it now and not to stop and how he hadn’t, not till he spent inside his clothes like a stripling and she cried out his name through swollen lips and all her soft white skin under his hands, each freckle begging for a kiss…

Ask him, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Thief’s honour.  

But he knew that when it was over and he was holding her, just holding her, still on the table with her legs open and him between them, trembling and slick with guilt and love and the salt of sweat and blood joining them, he felt something startle inside him, dark and honest and primal. Like this would always have happened, and it felt _good_. 

Ori, her hair undone, pupils blown wide and hot, hands shaking as they slid through Nori’s hair, a new awareness in her voice when she whispered. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t, sweet.” He promised, shifting to get closer to her, breathing ragged against her flushed breast. Her body welcomed him like it had been keening for his touch gods knew how long, every shift of her limbs drawing him to rest against her, and he went joyfully. “I’m not going anywhere.”

***

_He still dreams of kissing her, sometimes, when needs must and he has to go away. But going doesn’t mean the same thing anymore, not since they stopped fighting the poison that he still scarcely believes can be so sweet, so right._

_Now when he comes to her bed at night she turns and arches into his hands, opens her arms and lets him in, whispers that she loves him and rides him with her loose hair hanging down her back, kisses dropping from her mouth to his. And he treasures her even as he corrupts with his very touch, more than any gold._

_“You’re not ruining me.” She says sometimes, when they’re just still and just together, half clothed sometimes in her bed. She likes to read lying on her front and using his chest as a bookrest whilst he smokes, hand twining through her hair. “I’m quite capable of ruining myself.” She knows her own power, she can call him with her eyes and the slip of her clothes against her skin, she's **his**. _

_“Give me some credit.” He’ll joke, and she’ll laugh and it’s that he makes her happy that amazes him, that she can find so much joy in something that will be the death of them both should even a whisper get out._

_And there had been moments when he was sure someone looking their way could tell, could sense just how far they had transgressed. Knew he’d had his sister in every way a dam could be had, knew what made her gasp and what made her scream (into a pillow to muffle it because the walls are too thin, Dori might hear).  Knew that he’d had her and meant to keep her._

_He doesn’t much care for what others might think, if think was all they’d do. The only people whose opinions he really cares for are his siblings, and that’s the rub- Dori, and what he’d do if he knew._

_Kill Nori, probably, snap his neck like a scrawny fowl and hang him from a hook to dry out, never speak another word about him. And that’s if he was feeling charitable. It comforts Nori in a way, that Dori loves Ori properly, **safely** , is a brother to her the way she deserves. _

_That even if he knew, his first thought would be to protect her, because she’s the best thing they’ve got, the only thing in their lives worth saving. They’d both die for her, even if she’d probably hang on and kick till they took her with them._

_They have that in common at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this got long. Nori has a lot of angst. One more to go now. :)  
> (Lots of my general Nori headcanons are influenced by greenekangaroo's & thorinsmut's work, all of which is flawless and perfect. Go read it now if you haven't already.)  
> Khuzdul used in this chapter:  
> nadadel (brother of all brothers)  
> sannith (girl; perfect)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou so much for all your comments and support, and I hope this chapter rounds off the story nicely. :)

_Dori sometimes wonders if his siblings think he was born with coal for eyes and rock for brains. They are neither of them stupid, but nor are they subtle. Perhaps it is his own fault, for letting it go on this long. He has made it his business not to see, but now he finds himself having to be watchful, in case others look too closely._

_A fool would ask him: why do you protect them? Is it not condoning their sin, to turn your eyes away and do nothing?_

_But what else could he do? It was he that linked them by blood, separated by the same. Fragile bastard bonds that are far too easy to twist. And yet here he sits, holding their fragile house of three in place._

_Attempting to, anyway._

_The day Ori was born, their mother bled. A month later she was still bleeding, pale and wan with cracked white lips, silver eyes edged with blue. Snorri of Ri, a thieving whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed or her bairns fed. A bright faced dwarrowdam who could weave patterns beyond beauty in hair and thread and fabric. A mother who wasted away in love, love for the men who lied, died and left her, love for the children she bore in their stead._

_Ori doesn’t remember mother. Nori doesn’t remember Erebor. Dori doesn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel guilty for it. If only he’d tried a little harder, held on a little tighter. He could have saved **something**. _

_Ri are not made as heroes. Mahal crafted us crooked, Snorri liked to say._

_Dori does not believe it._

_Will not believe it. They can be more, can be better- but, as always, Nori will insist on making things difficult. Dori watches, watches him tip Ori against him and tug at her braids with hungry thief’s hands, sees her fingers clasp and curl against the opening of his tunic. Sees too much and looks away._

_“Ye never worry?” the bulk of a warrior settles beside him._

_Dori is always surprised when Dwalin speaks to him. At the beginning of this foolish quest he was on edge. Dori knows well enough what he is, and has learned to see every conversation as a prelude to a proposition. He has entertained more than one of these dwarrows in Ered Luin, and shall probably do so again should any of them survive the dragon. But not here. Not now._

_Things are better now. At least he  can make himself a distraction from his siblings and their inability to keep from touching one another.  Honestly._

_“About what?” he asks pointlessly, because manners are something you can trade on and he is certain that Dwalin is not aware of this._

_“About her. About what he might drag her into. He’s dangerous.” This son of Fundin at least does not mince words. Dori could almost admire him if he were not a threat._

_He looks the same way Dwalin is, at Ori in her brother’s arms, touching him quietly as though the world around them will eat itself up with not knowing what she knows. He hopes, fervently, that Dwalin only sees Nori’s past and not the choking love that thrums between the two, havoc and adoration to the exclusion of all else._

_“I worry about them both.”_

_*_

“Why’s Nori in a cage?” Ori asked the second they entered the room.

The entire guardhouse laughed and Dori clenched his fists, trying not to calculate the speed and precision with which he might, per say, be able to knock each and every one of these muscle bound fatheads to the ground. Not that he ever would, of course. That would be simply rude. 

“Because he is a public menace.” He told Ori, keeping a tight hold of her hand even though she was listing forwards, over to where Nori was lounging against the bars of his cell with a half-smile on his face, a quirk in his fastidiously braided eyebrows the only thing belying the fact that he was probably plotting several murders.

Dori prayed for patience. He hadn’t intended to even bother bailing his brother out- what was the point when Nori always escaped? But, when the usual ragtag bottom feeder came to the door to deliver the news, Ori had been awake and, when informed that they were not going to go and get Nori, that he deserved everything coming to him and would probably wriggle out of it in any case, her lower lip had started trembling.

With tears not far off, Dori had little choice but to traipse down to the guardhouse and pay his good for nothing brother out- and with Ori in tow. Usually when this turn of events came about she was asleep and Dori could slip out to do what needed to be done and get back before morning. This time, though…

Perhaps it was good for her to see this. It would help her learn that Nori was nothing like the noble vagabond of her imagination. She was entirely too young to be reading so many books in any case, but she was bright as a button and Dori couldn’t help but encourage her learning. One thing he strove to discourage though was her fascination with their middle brother and Nori’s own dubious affection for her.

“But he’s our brother.” Ori said in a small voice- almost as small as she was, half the size of most dwarflings her age and not a hair on her chin yet.

“Yes, more’s the pity.” Dori murmured under his breath.

“Brother dear, that almost hurts.” Nori grinned, wandering over as though he hadn’t just been released from a Mahal-cursed cell in front of their barely eighteen year old sister and half the guardsmen in Ered Luin.

 _If only._ Dori thought to himself, thanking the head guard for politely and turning to shepherd his siblings out of the door. Of course, it would be remiss of the guards to let them leave with what little dignity they had left, so a few wolf-whistles and a shout of “See you tonight, beautiful!” made sure to follow them out of the door.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Dori hissed, catching Nori by the back of the shirt and forcing him down the guardhouse steps onto the street when he turned, snarling, to go back inside.

What good would Nori getting himself arrested _again_ do, Dori wanted to ask his brother as Nori stormed ahead of them down the street. He found himself almost pulled along by Ori’s hand in his, her hastening to catch up to their sibling.

“How can you let them treat you like that?” Nori gritted out once he had slowed down enough to be walking alongside them again. “They couldn’t even afford a-”

“Not in front of Ori.” Dori said levelly, reaching down to cup a gentle hand around his sister’s head, mouse brown hair crowned in a woollen cap far too big for her.

Nori spat on the ground in disgust.

“Nor that.” Dori said.

Making a dissatisfied noise, Nori suddenly bent down and grabbed Ori under the arms, lifting her up so they were at eye level. “Our brother-” he said slowly, ignoring Dori’s indignant huff- “Thinks he is our mother. What do you say to that poppet?”

“Mama went to the stone.” Ori said promptly, and Dori could only keep on glaring when Nori’s face fell, because honestly, what was he expecting?

“Aye, poppet.” Nori said thickly, drawing Ori closer and kissing her on the nose. “She did and all.”

“If you’re quite finished?” asked Dori, resisting the urge to snatch Ori from the thief’s arms. He had sudden visions of Nori disappearing into the night with their sister in his clutches, both of them vanishing like smoke through a crack and leaving him quite alone. He swallowed the thought down, squashed the terror it wrought in him, and said what Nori was expecting him to say. “It’s the middle of the night and she should be in bed- give her here.”

 “Alright, keep your hairnet on.” Nori’s voice was flippant as he kissed Ori once, twice more and passed her into Dori’s arms. She laid her head on his shoulder immediately, burrowing into his clothes for warmth.

“Are you coming home, then?” he asked Nori.

“Nah.” It was almost visible, the cowl of the underground, the vagabond slipping back over the taller dwarf, features receding into the dark and eyes burning black. “Got…well, I got stuff on.”

Ori gripped him tighter. Dori wished he could grow armour from his unprotected back, so that when he turned away he could not feel his brother’s eyes on them. “Stay out of trouble for once.” He offered once he was already several steps away, the words somehow comforting in their utter meaninglessness, the same way the sleepy weight of Ori in his arms was.

Nori would never change. That much you could rely on.  

*

“She’s certainly very bright.” Lord Balin looked up at him from behind an eyeglass and a stack of papers, a small, shrewd smile on his face.

Dori felt as though his own smile was beginning to look a little pasted on, but he certainly couldn’t afford to drop it now. “Yes.” He said, trying not to sound overeager. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise, only it seems to me- forgive me, Lord Balin, but she has talent and I would see it nurtured. I will pay.”

Balin leaned back, eyeing Dori speculatively. The younger dwarf wondered if he had been too forward, mentioning payment so early in the conversation. Higher ups, especially charitably minded ones like Balin, often didn’t like to be reminded of financial obligations by their supplicants. If Dori’s profession had taught him anything it was that.

Or perhaps it was simply that profession which was causing the contemplative look in the son of Fundin’s eyes. Balin had always shown Dori the utmost courtesy ever since he had first agreed to take on Ori as a student. Never had he requested Dori’s services, even if the eldest Ri was a little late with his payments, and Dori was anxious that such a thing should not be necessary in the future.

“Apprenticeships cost more than children’s lessons, Dori son of Snorri, but they are more generally matters of trust than of finances.” Balin said slowly.

“I don’t follow you, my Lord.” Dori said, feeling foolish. Well, at least he hoped Balin wasn’t implying anything. It seemed a very gauche thing to assume.

“No matter.” Balin gave a small smile, standing up behind his desk. “I understand that you have some…financial difficulties, but that needn’t be a problem.”

Dori was affronted at that, but tried not to show it. It was only factual after all. None of the exiles of Erebor were exactly raking in the gold, but here, in the relative comfort of Balin’s private offices, Dori’s second hand clothes and oft-repaired boots must have seemed particularly and bleakly obvious.

“No more than anyone else.” Dori said pointedly.

“Of course.” Balin favoured him with another smile, and Dori wondered what the wily old dwarf thought he was doing trying a charm offensive on someone whose trade was in guile. Perhaps Dori wasn’t a thief like his younger brother, but he sold himself, his body and his services five nights a week. And he wasn’t particularly ashamed of it either, now he came to think about it.

“Does Ori wish to take up scribework?” Balin asked after a few tense seconds. “I won’t deny she has a true aptitude for letters, but I find a reluctant apprentice rarely completes the training.”

“It is all she talks about.” Dori said stiffly. Well, that and whatever mischief Fili and Kili had gotten her into and when Nori was coming home and how it wasn’t fair Madam Tirlis wouldn’t serve them at the bazaar last week and why couldn’t she learn to read elvish, it was important to know one’s enemy after all…

“I’ve no doubt. I’d be happy to take her on, truly.” Balin said, and he seemed sincere. Dori knew that he was overly suspicious, Nori told him so often enough (though the thief managed to phrase it as a strange sort of compliment). “On the condition that she completes her transition to Journeyman under my charge, and stays with me until she gains her Mastery. That way any outstanding fees will be more than made up for.”

Dori could hardly believe his ears. “She would remain living with me, of course.” He said cautiously, terrified suddenly that Balin was proposing Ori lodge with him. He knew it was tradition for apprentices to do so of course, but Ori was still so _young_ , and though the lower town was a cesspit at least she knew her way around there, she’d hardly spent any time at all here apart from her lessons and Maker knew what would become of her should she fall prey to some no account chancer just looking for a good time…

“If that is your wish, I could certainly accommodate it.” Balin said, reaching for a sheath of paper which he began to leaf through as he continued. “I must admit I am relieved you came to me- I would have been awfully upset to lose her as a student. Like you say, she is talented. And enthusiastic, for all she can be shy. You’re sure you want to keep her at home? It would do wonders for her confidence to- I see, perhaps not.” He said, nodding when he caught sight of Dori’s expression.

“I appreciate your willingness to accommodate her, Mr Balin, but she’s underage still. I shall make sure she always gets here on time.” As he had done every day since she first started her lessons. She had been twenty three then, still scarcely big enough to hold a pencil, but within a couple of weeks she had nearly all of the runes memorised.

Ori would hold Dori’s hand walking to and from Balin’s offices, sometimes chirruping an anecdote of what Durin’s heirs had done or would do that day. Her backpack would overflow with folded up papers and spilt ink. By the time she was thirty, she was walking there by herself, running in windswept and red cheeked with her braids askew and scarf unravelling. Dori was fully aware that he was being soppy and it was foolish, but how had she grown up so _fast_?

“Thank you, Lord Balin.” He said, when the investure papers were handed over to be signed. His signature and Ori’s would have to do, since he had no intention whatsoever of hunting Nori out of whatever pit he was holed up in and getting him to counter sign as was customary. He’d probably refuse any way out of pure contrariness, and it would take weeks for Ori to wear him down.

“It’s a pleasure.” Balin said, grasping his hand to seal the bargain. “Send Ori along with the papers next week, won’t you.”

“I will.” Dori said, hardly believing his luck. “I most certainly will.”

*

“Fourteen.” Ori said conversationally one evening.

“What’s that, lovie?” Dori asked, a little distracted. He’d been out at work continuously the past two weeks, and even though custom was slow this time of year he always found himself exhausted at the end of the night, from the cold weather more than anything. Perhaps he ought to take up Hafran’s offer of a room in his house to work out of. The problem was that sort of thing tended to be permanent- Hafran would no doubt expect a cut of his profits, his appointments would no longer be his to manage and worse, he couldn’t expect to have Ori with him.

The streets, unaccommodating as they were, at least allowed him to keep what was left of his family together.

“Fourteen.” She said again, pointing the hearthstone. Dori, deciding that now would be an excellent time for a cup of rosehip tea, followed the direction of her hand. Ah. The stones. “It’s been fourteen months.”

“You oughtn’t to count, Ori.” He told her, just as he told her every month. A stone for every four weeks their brother had been gone, lined up in painstaking rows. It wasn’t…well, it wasn’t _healthy_ for her to act so.

“What should I do then?” she asked, small face stricken.

Dori sighed, stoking the tea kettle for want of something to distract himself. “Try and forget about him. I know it’s hard, but-”

“I can’t.” Ori said, and she sounded genuinely puzzled. “How could I?”

Dori looked at his sister. She was only thirty eight, but older than her years, he suddenly realised. “What’s he told you?” he asked, trying not to snap.

Ori blinked and then looked away. “Nothin’.” She murmured.

“Noth _ing_.” Dori said irritably- she only started dropping letters when she was hiding something, a habit she’d picked up from Nori (who he was sure did it deliberately at this point). “And I’ll bet it was something, or you wouldn’t be looking so shifty, little miss.”

Ori’s lower lip had started quivering. “He didn’t say noth- anything. I swear, really. I just miss him.”

“If he’s promised you something-”

“Nori doesn’t _make_ promises, Dori. He’s not as bad as all that.” Ori was beginning to look mutinous, so Dori shook his head and poured the tea, his hands steady. It was as though Nori was inhabiting the space between them, twining himself around Ori’s small form and locking her up inside herself. “It wasn’t something he told me, I just...heard it.”

“Heard what?” Dori asked.

“That you...and Lord Balin. That you pay for my apprenticeship by…”

The first time Ori had asked about his work, it had been in response to catcalls in the street. It had been the first time Dori felt shame, true shame, over what he did to put food on the table. There was nothing illegal about it, _thank you_ _very much indeed_ _Nori_. It was a profession, like any other, or that’s what he had told Ori. But he knew that here on the edge of the world where they were forced to scramble and drudge for survival, his road was harder than most.

Ori had nodded though, when he told her his job was giving people comfort. She’d been young enough to accept it and even tell him she thought it sounded nice, and when she’d been old enough to understand it better, the trade in bodies that populated the streets and alleys of Ered Luin, the fact that Dori spent his nights on his back or his knees, she had simply hugged him a little harder when he came home in the mornings.

Ori was brave. Braver than she should’ve had to have been, had they lived in better times.

Dori placed his teacup down and went to his little sister. “Lovie, you know that’s not true. Lord Balin is an honourable dwarrow. He took you on because you are exceptionally talented.”

Ori, looked up at him, brow crinkled in confusion. “I know Lord Balin wouldn’t…I know you would _never_ …but I…I heard people around the upper town talking. Nori was with me, an’ he heard it too. I told him not to do anything, but he was so angry. He left that night. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said anything I mean, I-”

“Hush, lovie, hush. Your brother knows enough not to make trouble with nobles. He probably left because he found some work to do.” If you could call their brother’s activities that, Dori restrained himself from adding. “Is that why you’ve been counting? Because you felt guilty?”

“A bit. I know you didn’t want him to stay.” She said, and bless her there was no reproach in her voice.

Dori pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on that not even the strongest tea would be able to assuage. “It’s…more complicated than that. Mahal knows he’s trouble, but he’s still our brother, for better or worse.”

He just wished that it wasn’t _for worse_ quite so often, that was all.

*

Dori had had it up to here. “For the very last time, would both of you please stop that ruckus!”

“Sorry Dori!” Ori said cheerfully, at least trying to sound apologetic. Nori gave no such quarter, simply grabbing at Ori’s waist and pulling her back into their wrestling match- well, it seemed to be some semblance of one. In Dori’s opinion there was far too much giggling and shrieking going on- if this was a better part of town he had no doubt the people next door would complain.

Still, it was good to see Ori smiling again- it had been her nameday last week and Nori had been absent, hadn’t turned up in fact until just yesterday. Money was tight, so her gifts had been few and small, with one notable exception. He returned his attention to that exception now, putting a delicate row of tiny stitches onto the bodice.

Tonight, a banquet was being held in honour of visitors from the White Mountains, and after what Dori suspected had been much nagging from both the heirs of Durin, Ori had eventually asked him if they could go. Admittedly, he’d been doubtful- as Balin’s apprentice it was right for Ori to attend, but she would need a family chaperone.

Whilst Dori could weather the looks, chances of Nori getting arrested tended to shoot up the closer he got to expensive jewellery and Dwalin Fundinson. Not that he was going along with them like any _normal_ person, heaven forbid, but Dori would bet his best tea-set his brother would be lurking around looking for an easy lift.

Still, they’d been invited, and it would be impolite to refuse even if Dori had to shackle himself to his brother for most of the evening to prevent him from petty theft. Perhaps young Fili would finally pluck up his courage and ask Ori for a dance. Dori did not wish to tempt bad luck by foolish hope, but the elder of Thorin’s nephews had a definite eye for Ori, and Dori would be remiss to discourage such a liaison.

No doubt it was mercenary of him, but somebody had to consider the future. Ori liked Fili well enough, and if they were to wed she would be amply provided for. Safe. Protected. Not before time of course, heavens no, but if there was a _chance_ …

Dori shook his head at his own thoughts as he smoothed out the fabric- a slim chance indeed it would be, for the sister of a thief and a streetwalker to wed a prince, even one brought low and exiled from their home. Fili’s and Kili’s father had even been a common iron-smith, though, that much was well known. Was it such a stretch to suppose a courtship between Fili and Ori would be allowed?

“Okay, moppet, you beat me.” Nori, it seemed, had conceded defeat at last and allowed Ori to flatten him to the hearthrug. Ori, still laughing with delight, leant down and kissed Nori on the cheek, then again on the opposite side.

“D’you love me, then?” she asked quietly.

“Course.” Nori replied, sounding almost indignant.

“So you’ll come with us tonight?” She continued. “Please.”

“I’m no good at parties, moppet.” Nori said, pushing himself up so that he was on eye level with Ori, fingers carding through her hair. She still wore it in the curved braids of childhood, fastened by the lilac silk ribbons that had been their mother’s, but Dori knew it wouldn’t be long before she started experimenting. Sefi, one of his colleagues who had two youngsters at home, had warned him that the upcoming phase would make the twenties look a waltz through a diamond mine.

“Okay.” Ori said- she sounded so despondent Dori decided to put a stop to this at once.

“Come over here, lovie, I want to test the fit.” He said, affecting having only just looked up from his stitching.

Ori alighted from Nori’s lap, perking up considerably once Dori held the dress against her to see how it would drape. “It’s lovely, isn’t it Nori?” She asked distractedly, smoothing down the dress with one ink-stained hand. Dori gave her hand a little tap- the dress was a dark wine colour, but a stain would still show and those inks were _impossible_ to get out.

“Yeh.” Nori said thickly from the hearthrug. Dori, for once, could sympathise- for all that Nori was never really around, he loved Ori fiercely and it was hard, after all, to see one’s sibling so grown up in what seemed like so short a time.

“Take your tunic off, Ori, then you can see if it fits. I might have to take it in.” Dori said, fumbling for a tape measure. Ori did as she was told, going to drop her clothes on the floor and hastening to drape them over the back of a chair when Dori gave her a reproving look.

She gave him an equally mulish stare when he attempted to pull the dress over her head for her, and Dori obligingly retreated, letting her do it herself- honestly, if she poked herself in the eye with a pin it would be her own fault. The dress suited her well- Ori had always been skinny for her age, but she was filling out a little, Dori thought absently, so a couple of inches off the sleeve would be enough to make it work.

He motioned for Ori to take off the dress again once he’d got the measurements, and went over to the window to light the lamps. If he hadn’t have turned at exactly the right moment he wouldn’t have caught it. Ori, bent at the waist in her chemise with the dress pooling at her feet, chattering about nothing in particular, and Nori- sitting still as stone, hands clenched on the hearthrug, his dark eyes tracking over every inch of their sister’s exposed skin.

The realisation came so sudden that Dori froze on the spot. It wasn’t so much in the way Nori was looking, more longing than lechery, but in the swiftness and brutality with which he looked away. He hadn’t seen that Dori had seen him, he hadn’t seen anything but Ori, and then had moved to forget what he’d seen so fast that Dori almost couldn’t believe his own eyes.

Of all the hell Nori had brought upon their family, all the arrests and the break-ins and the fights and their mothers tears, _Ori’s_ tears, Dori had always comforted himself by remembering that Nori at least loved Ori, adored her, would do anything to protect her. That they were a family, all three of them, however fractured.

He’d had no idea how fractured.

Dori had never thought himself capable of murder, no matter how many times he had exasperatedly threatened to wring Nori’s neck. That second, though, it was only the fact that he was too appalled to move that kept him from seizing his brother and throttling him.

“Shall I put the kettle on?” he found himself asking, the words springing unbidden from his mouth.

“Ooh, yes please.” Ori said, buttoning up her tunic and carefully stretching her dress across the table. “Do we have any of that ginger tea?”

Dori made the tea. He put the finishing touches to Ori’s dress. He watched, an ice cold calm settling over him, as Ori twirled around the room and Nori took out his pipe. The evening wore on. The calm remained. Dori did nothing.

He did nothing when Nori left the house an hour before the banquet started, nothing when he and Ori arrived and his brother was thankfully nowhere in sight. Dori watched, trying to feel pleased, when Ori did indeed dance with Fili, blushing fiery red but with every step perfectly in time.

His sister was immeasurably precious to him.

It was going to kill him to have to break her heart.

So he did nothing. When there was a ruckus by the doors to the banquet hall, and Dori saw a familiar three-pointed head of hair on a no good thief being hustled out of the door, he took a sip of mead and continued the polite conversation he had been having. When Ori fell asleep on the way home, he carried her over the threshold and put her to bed and did nothing.

She was not a child any more. Nori would not be content to look forever. Dori knew his brother, he knew guilt and he knew that Nori was a stranger to that particular emotion. What on Mahal’s earth was he to do?

Nothing. There was nothing he could do, except what he always did.

There was a knock on the window at quarter past four. The dwarf outside was pale and twitchy, a catacomb sort with too-large eyes. “He needs an out. Will you come?”

Dori felt weary to the depths of his bones. He sent the rat away, and went to get his coat.

He went to the guardhouse and nodded politely when Dwalin expressed his displeasure at having to arrest Nori at a banquet. The visiting dignitaries had apparently seen everything. The King, it transpired, was most upset.

He paid Nori out with the silver he’d earned on his hands and knees, from russet bearded sell-axe out of the Iron Hills just a few nights before.

Nori swaggered from his cell as he always did, tipped the guards a wink. It took him several minutes after they left the guardhouse to realise something was wrong.

“Ori didn’t see, did she?” he asked, obviously judging from the thunderous look on Dori’s face. “Aule’s tits, I didn’t mean for-”

“Here.” Dori said levelly, pushing a purse with the rest of the silver into Nori’s hand. He took it, he was his mother’s son as much as Dori was and he took it. “I want you gone. Do not- I want you **_out_**.”

Nori blinked, then nodded, like he even had the faintest idea what he’d done, and disappeared. Ori woke up the next morning and very resolutely didn’t cry.

Dori did nothing.

Did nothing, and hoped to the stone it would be enough.

*

It seemed, the next time Nori came around, that Dori’s suspicions were to remain just that- suspicions. Had he really seen desire in his brother’s eyes, he found himself wondering? Surely not.

Time did wonders to pull the wool over one’s eyes, after all.

Perhaps that was true for Nori as well. Dori became sure at least that Nori was unaware of his own perversion, had at least pushed it so deep that it became unrecognisable even to himself.

Dori did not _want_ to kill his brother.

Not especially.

But whatever he and his good-for-nothing down-and-out _reprehensible_ brother were able to forget or ignore, it soon became clear to him that his sister could do neither.

Ori was as dear to Dori as though she was his own child, and that was the worst part of it. He watched her love their brother to the point of lunacy, and did not do a thing to prevent it.

He had wanted to believe, so badly, that this was on Nori’s part only, that Nori was simply wrong and had to be kept away. But the more Dori tried to keep him away, the tighter the two seemed bound together. He would look at them sometimes and see the indelible proof- silent conversations even he could not decode, the way their bodies would fall into mirrors of the other, so obvious and yet so obscure it could almost be put down to the imagination.

Almost. Not quite. 

It was selfish, unutterably so on both their parts. But he supposed they could not help it. Even if he were to disown Nori, fling him out of the family and forbid him from showing his face or coming near Ori again, what good would it do? It would only hurt Ori, hurt her deep down somewhere irreparable and she would either break or she would fling herself after him and sooner or later they’d be caught out.

For a time, he was sure that his siblings had not moved beyond too-intimate glances and fleeting touches. As long as they did not act on whatever curse this was, no one would know. No one would be able tell.

Dori knew what happened to those who committed such acts. He had seen it, once, in a ragged settlement just west of the Misty Mountains, not long after Erebor fell. Two orphans, family lost to the dragon, going too far in their search for comfort.

They’d hung the one brother, and the crowd had stoned him as he hung. They made the other watch and then hung him too. By then he’d seemed almost grateful.

It took until Ori was nearly sixty seven for Dori to realise that whether his brother and sister had lain together or not was immaterial. They would never stop needing one another in the wrong way, never stop fighting and scrambling and longing for each other.

And he was powerless to stop it.

Nori stole an emerald tiara, from a wealthy house somewhere on the other side of Ered Luin. He and his partners in crime went on the run and Ori was anxious for days, flitting to the window every time there was a sound, picking at her fingernails and chewing her lips raw. Dori made an effort not to notice.

Nobody knew it was Nori, but there was suspicion enough, and before long Dwalin reached for his axes. Everyone in the Blue Mountains knew that Thorin’s second meant to take the head of whoever had done the theft. A scouting party was arranged, all of them answering to Dwalin. A date was set for the hunt to begin.

And it was called off as abruptly as it started when the warrior took to his bed, an unexplained illness. Things went quiet again, until Dori heard talk in the marketplace- apparently someone had slipped the younger son of Fundin some drug to keep him off the streets.

When Dori repeated this story to Ori, it was in an almost offhand way. Only upon seeing how quickly she looked away once he spoke did he begin to suspect what she’d done. He knew his sister sometimes served the tea at Balin’s home. He knew Dwalin was there more often than not.

He knew she’d do anything for Nori.

After a tense few hours wondering if he’d be better off not knowing anything else, he broached the topic again. “Very strange, what happened to Dwalin. You don’t often hear of so sturdy a dwarf getting ill.”

Ori pulled her cuffs down over her hands, making a noncommittal sound. “Shouldn’t we just be grateful he did?” She said quietly.

“Now why would we?” Dori affected bewilderment, and was rewarded for it by Ori hunching her shoulders even further towards the table. “Ori?”

“What?” she said finally, her brown eyes glassy when she looked up at him. Dori looked back at her until she dropped her gaze. “M’sorry, that was rude.”

“Rudeness is the least of your worries, lovie.” Dori said, feeling a great rush of sadness and helplessness.

“I don’t know what you mean, Dori.” Ori said, lifting up her books so he could wipe the table underneath them. Housework was the only thing that kept him from going stir-crazy at times like this.

“What were you thinking, Ori?” he eventually burst out. “Do you have any idea the trouble you could’ve gotten into?”

Ori looked for a moment like she would keep denying her involvement, but then she stood up and wrapped her arms around herself. “I did what I had to. No one got hurt.” She said, and Dori felt sick, because that was what Nori had said the first time he had turned up with stolen goods. They’d been struggling for weeks and he’d brought home a sack of food, laid it on the table and said _I had to._

“You _drugged_ the King’s second. If he took too much, if he’d have _died_ -”

“What was I supposed to do, then? Let them _kill_ Nori?” Ori’s face was white, her brows drawn into a tight line. She looked like mother, and that more than anything scared Dori. “I’d soon as die myself.”

“For him?” Dori said. He grasped his sister by the shoulders, made her look at him. “Ori, you are worth a thousand of him.”

“He’s our _brother_.” She said then, the same thing she’d said when she was a child, had been saying for fifty years. Had the words always carried so much with them- had he simply been content not to notice?

“I know.” Dori said, wrapping his arms cautiously around Ori. “I know that, _Namadith_. But that doesn’t change what’s right.”

*

_The quest is a bad idea. Dori is sure of that much, but what can he do? When it is just Balin with his clever words and kind smile, enticing Ori with stories of the Great Library and the gilded halls, Dori can put his foot down and say no._

_But when the guard catches up with Nori, and their brother is given the choice between Erebor and his right hand, Dori knows he can’t prevent any of it. So he lets Ori put her name to the contract, and signs his underneath hers. Their handwriting is similar, he realises for the first time. And Nori’s. It’s been so long since he’s written anything, or seen his brother’s words on paper._

_“We’re going to reclaim the mountain!” Ori sings, bouncing around the kitchen with her long braids flying. Dori tuts and keeps on knitting, because Mahal knows they’re going to need it. Nori though, reaches out and catches her as she spins, wrapping her up in his tight thief’s grip._

_Briefly, Dori sees, they forget that they are not alone. Their lips almost touch, but Nori bends his forehead to hers at the last moment. “Going to be eaten by a dragon.” He says, as though he’s joking._

_“Honestly, listen to the pair of you.” Dori interjects. “It far is more likely the pass over the Misty Mountains will be blocked and we’ll be back here by Durin’s Day with our tails between our legs.”_

_“It ain’t blocked.” Nori says, still holding onto Ori. He is cradling her, Dori realises, holding her to him gently and covetously, as though she is something immeasurably precious._

_His siblings are sacred to one another._

_This is something he has accepted, has learned to from that first time he noticed the adoration in Nori’s eyes to the morning Ori came down to breakfast with a slow, delicate gait and her lips swollen, hissed under her breath when she slid into her seat and stared out of the window with dreamy, far off eyes._

_He hadn’t known what to do, but he’d known that his siblings were both too far gone to think of such things as consequences. So when he made Ori’s tea he slipped a certain herb into it, not enough for her to notice but enough to undo any potential disasters._

_Dori feels vaguely disgusted with himself when he remembers, but the alternative does not bear thinking about._

_There are a lot of things he tries not to think about._

_If he pretends not to know it is easier to lie. Nobody truly suspects, not even Dwalin who is so vigilant, who watches Nori like a hawk._

_True, the journey itself has been a plentiful distraction- trolls and elves and goodness knows what else._

_Nearly plummeting to their deaths springs to mind. Let Thorin have his Pale Orc, Dori’s greatest fear came true the moment he felt himself lose his grip on Gandalf’s staff. They would die, he could not hold on and Ori would **die** , he had felt it in his bones, and in that moment he had made a decision. _

_That when they reached the makers halls, he would go before their forger and plead his sister’s case. Dori knows Durin’s law by heart, knows his siblings are damned, but he will not let that stop him. He is going to save Ori any way he can, if they die a week from now or a month or get their mountain back and live peacefully to the end of their days._

_(this is unlikely)_

_What’s more, when Nori’s time comes, he will do the same. No matter what it is they’ve done, how far their sins have sunk them, Dori son of Snorri will stand up and fight for his family. For they are his, no matter what anyone says or thinks of them, and that is all the truth he needs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering why Ori doesn't seem too fussed about drugging Dwalin, she gave him the middle earth/herbal equivalent of a laxative, not anything dangerous.  
> Okay, that is a sentence I never thought I'd write.  
> I should probably get round to writing that Bagginshield fic now...

**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.  
> Honestly, I was going through the kink meme searching for a bagginshield prompt i'd seen, planning to write a multichapter, NOT THIS. But then, well, I got sidetracked...  
> Original Prompt here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6263.html?thread=15065463#t15065463  
> (also if anyone knows how to link to the fill post on the meme ENLIGHTEN ME please, or how to post links in the notes)  
> -Summary quote is from The Secret History.


End file.
